


The Payoff

by HenryMercury



Series: Deadly Sins [2]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/F, Gemma's collection of high-tech sex toys, Light Dom/sub, Mean Girls, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nipple Clamps, POV Gemma, Sexual Humor, Size Kink, Spanking, Strap Sucking, Strapping, Top Eve Polastri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:56:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26919961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HenryMercury/pseuds/HenryMercury
Summary: Villanelle has to work, Eve wants to try new things, and Gemma has ended up with Niko as a houseguest. What could possibly go wrong?
Relationships: Gemma/Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Series: Deadly Sins [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1945441
Comments: 14
Kudos: 63





	The Payoff

_"_ _Eve and I are having… problems. The sort we mightn’t come back from,” he says, soaking up Gemma’s sympathetic looks. The comforting hand she lays on his shoulder. The tea she brings him from the staffroom kitchenette. She pretends not to know that Eve’s told him it’s over._

_“So take a break,” she suggests. “A change of scenery to clear your head. Have you got family you can stay with? Friends?”_

_Gemma imagines Niko’s hypothetical friends and family as living out of London. He’s Polish, after all; a trip home might be what he needs._

_“You have a couple of spare rooms at your place, don’t you?” he asks, then, and Gemma realises her mistake._

_“Yes I do.” She’s offered them to him enough times, hasn’t she? She likes him very much, still—but the idea of a sleepover with Niko has been eclipsed by the spectacular sex she’s been having with his wife and the alleged psychopath who catalysed their impending separation._

_“Would you mind?”_

_“Not at all,” she lies._

Gemma can’t tell them. She knows she should, but she also doesn’t think she could stand them treating her like a complete idiot. She may well _be_ an idiot, but that isn’t the point.

“Let’s go to your place for the weekend,” she suggests to Eve. “I want to see the famous Polastri chicken at last.”

Eve takes a moment, processing, as if she’s forgotten she ever had a chicken, then nods. “Sure. Niko’s off wherever he is, and I don’t imagine he’ll be back that soon.”

“I’ll make something nice for dinner. You have gas cooking, right?” Gemma’s nervous, and she sounds nervous. She used to think of herself as a pretty good liar, and she generally got away with it—sweet, sad Gemma, too painfully earnest to second-guess—but Eve and Villanelle have really shifted the scales. Everything she does feels obvious now.

“We can always get takeaway,” Eve shrugs.

She seems to have interpreted Gemma’s anxiety as a need to impress. Normally she’d be right.

“Then I can have you _all_ ,” Eve leans in. “To.” Her cheek brushes against Gemma’s. “My.” Soft, dry lips tickle the shell of Gemma’s ear. “Self.”

“I’m _right_ here,” interrupts Villanelle.

Eve laughs. “But you’re away from Friday morning.”

Villanelle huffs, and continues poking at the screen of her computer. Last glimpse Gemma got, she was shopping for designer dresses. “It will be an easy job. A _boring_ job. I’ll probably be back by Saturday evening.”

“We’ll wait up for you then!” Gemma says brightly.

There’s still a lot she isn’t told about Villanelle’s work. Eve, too, although she suspects that Villanelle keeps her secrets from Eve to make it more exciting when Eve’s team investigates the scene she leaves behind her. It’s all a very strange conflict of interest, but it’s exciting.

“We’ll buy some ice-cream and watch _Mean Girls_ then,” Eve decides. “It’ll be such a shame if you aren’t back in time.”

Villanelle points a finger at Eve. “You are _so_ mean,” she pouts. “You _know_ I love ice-cream and _Mean Girls_! They are _my_ things!”

“We’ll wait. If she wants to start without you, I’ll distract her,” Gemma assures her with a wink.

“See, Eve? Gemma is nice. You could learn a thing or two from her.”

Eve rolls her eyes.

With a mischievous grin, Gemma adds: “Maybe we’ll even have time to road-test the new nipple clamps before you arrive.”

Villanelle—who’s been pestering them both to volunteer their tits for her new toy for several days now—throws a hissy fit.

_The house smells like chicken. It’s Friday evening and Gemma’s arrived home late after supervising debating practice. All she wants is to melt into Eve’s arms. Order a huge, cheesy pizza. Exchange lazy kisses on the sofa, and then fall asleep with her head in Eve’s lap._

_“Hello?” she calls out from the hallway._

_“In here,” Niko replies from down the hall. “Dinner will be about twenty minutes.”_

_Dinner. Objectively a lovely surprise—but not at all what she needs right now. She drops her keys in the dish on the sideboard and moves through the living room towards the kitchen._

_“I have plans, Niko,” she says apologetically, grimacing as he deflates before her eyes._

_“Oh. Of course. Well, there’ll be plenty of leftovers for the weekend then.”_

_Deep breath. “I won’t be back until Monday night.”_

_“I’ll freeze some.” He sounds a little frostier himself. “Where are you going?”_

_“One of my girlfriends’ houses,” she answers. A truth—although she, Eve and Villanelle haven’t exactly defined their relationship._

_Gemma’s even been the sort to call her female friends girlfriends in the past, so it washes right over him. She’s moved in predominantly straight social circles all her life, and knows she blends in unless actively deciding not to. Sometimes it’s a lie by omission, yes, but it’s also just what people get for assuming._

_“I need to shower and pack my things. I’m sorry about dinner.”_

_She is sorry; the food smells great, and he’s put in a quantity of effort she’d have been thrilled to receive from him before. Before, when it would have meant she was so desirable he was choosing her over his wife. Not now, when the chase is over, and she has more exciting options while he no longer has any._

The bag takes two hands to lug from the back seat of her car to Eve’s front door. Gemma sets it down carefully on the doorstep so she can ring the bell.

Eve answers wearing yoga pants and a white singlet, through which Gemma can very clearly see her nipples standing to attention. The singlet bunches slightly around Eve’s unbelievably trim waist, baring a strip of skin across her lower belly. Her skin shines subtly like she’s been doing YouTube Pilates routines again. Her hair is tied up, but a few messy curls have come loose and hang around her face. She’s so effortlessly sexy Gemma’d want to cry if she wasn’t allowed to touch her.

“What’s in the bag?” Eve asks, accepting the frantic kisses Gemma lays on her neck.

“My collection.”

“Of what?”

“Sex toys.”

Eve laughs, running a hand over Gemma’s hair, gently guiding her head back. Gemma remembers she’s still only halfway across the threshold. She picks the bag up again and hauls it inside so Eve can shut the door after them.

“How many do you _have_? That’s an entire duffle!”

“I’ve been single for a while,” Gemma answers, not feeling quite so confident anymore. “And I like to shop when I’m stressed. So this is half stuff I’ve tried myself, and half stuff I bought hoping I’d find someone to use it with.”

“Let’s see it then.” Eve is undoing the zipper the moment Gemma sets the bag down.

She pulls out item after item: vibrators, dildos, straps, strawberry lube. The riding crop Gemma will never admit she bought out of nostalgia for her horse girl phase. The innocent-looking flogger that leaves lovely pink heart imprints on the skin.

Eve pauses her rummaging, holding a small box up to the light, squinting as if she doesn’t trust her own eyes. “Does it really look like that?” she asks.

Gemma looks at the _Spinnator Satisfyer Lay-on Sweet Treat_ and nods. “Yeah. It’s really a cupcake.”

“What’s next, a lipstick vibe?” Eve smirks.

Gemma feels… lightly humiliated. She likes it when Eve makes her feel this way; points out all the silly things about her and mocks—then _accepts_ —them. Eve strips her bare, gives a blisteringly frank review of her, and then chooses her anyway.

“I do have one of those, actually, but it’s in my handbag.”

Eve’s brows go up, but she doesn’t comment further.

Shuffling the bottles and boxes some more, she takes things out and lays them on the floor near the overburdened coffee table:

The pink glass wand that reminds Gemma of Sailor Moon.

The baby blue leather handcuffs, lined with soft white fur.

The gigantic, lifelike rubber penis she bought at a sex shop with a friend, a joke-but-not. She’s unboxed it, felt the heft of it in her hand, fantasised about taking it… but never _used_ it. She isn’t even sure it’d fit.

“You’d have been disappointed with Niko’s,” Eve snorts, waving the oversized dick around to watch it wobble back and forth.

Gemma doesn’t want to talk about Niko. She doesn’t know _how_ to talk about Niko, who is crashing in her guest room, with Eve, his very-recently-estranged wife.

“I haven’t actually tried that one before,” Gemma admits. “It’s—well. Really big.”

“I can see that. You’d almost need a fist just to warm up.”

Gemma shivers. She remembers all too well the way Eve had slipped her whole hand into Villanelle on their first night together; the way Villanelle’s body had closed so tightly around Eve’s wrist, shuddering at every minute movement she made inside her. Gemma’s thought about it since; come hard to the memory of it on four of her own fingers.

“Do you- is it something you would enjoy?” she asks cautiously. “I don’t know if I can manage that—” she motions toward the dildo in question, “on my own, but if you helped me—if you _made_ me take it…”

Reaching into the bag herself, Gemma feels around for the harness she knows is there. It’ll work, with the flared base of the dildo. She offers it to Eve.

“I haven’t done this before,” Eve admits, her hands exploring the flat black cords with interest.

Gemma’s not surprised; she’s been married for a decade to a man whom Gemma wouldn’t peg as someone who’d be into—well, pegging.

“Not with Villanelle? She definitely knows how it’s done.”

Eve shakes her head. “Nothing like this had happened between me and her before _that_ night. Without you in the picture, I think we’d still be more or less where we were.”

Gemma _glows_ knowing she’s at the centre of this. She’s important. Two scarily driven women with undeniable chemistry and yet they couldn’t make this happen without _her_.

“I should get the lube from upstairs,” Gemma decides. The strawberry one was a bit expensive, and they’re going to need a lot.

Eve nods, and Gemma scampers up the stairs. Her knees feel wobbly already, just from the nerves, the anticipation. Eve doesn’t go easy on her, or on Villanelle—and a strap like that doesn’t go easy on anyone. The lubricant is in the drawer by Eve’s bedside, along with the—

—the _empty packaging_ which used to contain nipple clamps.

“She’s hidden them, or something,” Gemma calls out as she descends the stairs again. “The clamps, I mean. They’re gone.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Yeah—” Gemma stops at the sight of Eve, who’s exchanged her yoga pants for the strap. The dildo looks even more stupidly large jutting out from between her delicate hipbones—and yet somehow, it doesn’t look wrong on her. It looks…

Gemma swallows. Continues: “So I thought… we should make sure she knows we didn’t need them to have a good time.”

There’s a millennial pink polaroid camera in Gemma’s handbag, into which she’s just loaded new film. She retrieves it and hands it to Eve.

“You know how to use it?” she checks.

Eve turns the device over, then nods.

“Cool. Now, how do you want me?” Gemma looks her dead in the eyes, even as she feels her face heating. Her ears must be bright red, but at least her hair’s down and mostly hides them from sight.

Eve wraps one of her small hands around the dick protruding from her crotch almost thoughtfully. Her fingers don’t even reach all the way around as she squeezes, acclimatising.

“Take your clothes off,” she instructs.

Gemma complies, shedding piece by piece until she’s completely naked. Eve watches approvingly, the attention buzzing across Gemma’s bare skin, raising goosebumps in concert with the cool air.

From amongst Gemma’s collection, Eve picks up the deceptively cute flogger. “Do you use this on yourself?” she asks.

Gemma shakes her head. “I mean, I tried, but it’s not the same, is it?”

“Lean over the edge of the couch, arse up.”

Gemma does as she’s told, perching with her knees in the sofa cushions and her forearms flat against the arm of the chair. She wriggles her bum around for good measure, asking for it. “Have you done this much before?” she asks, just to keep things flowing.

“No,” replies Eve. “Never. But I’ve wanted to try it.”

Gemma grins. “What are you waiting for, then?”

Eve steps forward, raises the flogger and brings it down on the meat of Gemma’s right butt cheek. There’s hesitation there, though; the tails skitter awkwardly off her skin—less like a collection of sweet little bites and more like a handful of something’s been dropped onto her.

“Sorry,” says Eve. Gemma can hear her frowning.

“No problem, I’d rather you worked up to it than starting too strong.”

“Villanelle would know how to do this properly.”

Gemma twists her body around so she can face Eve, can reach up and hold the hand that’s clenched around the handle of the flogger.

“Maybe,” she shrugs. “But she’s off at work, and _you_ want to try this, and _I_ want _you_ to try it on me. I think you need to swing a bit harder.”

Gemma leans back over the sofa’s arm, lays her forehead down on her folded arms and waits. There’s a momentary pause, a determined inhalation, and then the soft whistle of leather cutting through the air before the blow lands.

“ _Ah_ ,” she breathes out. This time, the sting blooms beautifully across her skin. Her pulse gains momentum, and she can feel the blood shifting its focus to her backside and between her legs. “Green,” she reports. “That was good. Again, please.”

Eve shifts behind her, and the next blow lands on her left cheek.

“Green, green, green,” Gemma chants impatiently. It’s a good start, but it isn’t enough.

Again, the little hearts rain down on her skin. Again, and again, and then they stop. She can feel Eve moving away without seeing her. Hears her put the flogger down.

“What—?”

“Don’t move,” Eve instructs. “I want to take a photo.”

Gemma holds still. Listens for the click until she realises it won’t come until she asks.

“Yes, take it,” she encourages.

Eve takes the shot.

“How’s it look?”

“Very, very pale,” Eve chuckles. “You need to learn some patience.”

“Are you going to teach me?”

“I think it’s going to be important when I fuck you with my huge dick… which is technically your dick.”

Gemma giggles, and Eve can’t help laughing at her own words too.

“Sorry, there’s just something about waving this thing around that feels so… crass.”

“I like that. Keep—keep saying those things. It’ll either be sexy or it’ll be funny, and both are good if you ask me.”

“Alright,” says Eve, in that contemplative sort of voice she gets when she’s trying to justify something she’s already decided to do. “Why don’t you suck this dick, then.”

It’s—god, it’s not funny at _all_ this time, even if it should be. Gemma feels herself growing wetter as Eve comes to stand closer, right in front of her, the dildo at Gemma’s face height.

She may not have come to this relationship with much cunnilingus experience, but she’s qualified enough in the blowjob department. She adjusts for the fact that Eve won’t actually feel what she’s doing, curling her tongue out to visibly tease against the head of the toy, making a show of it. She keeps her hands pressed against the tops of her thighs and leans forward to take the tip into her mouth. It’s hard to get her jaw around, frankly, but made easier by the lack of concern for teeth. She sucks, hollowing out her cheeks nicely as she slides her gaze up to meet Eve’s.

“Hell,” Eve mutters. “I hate to say it, but I think I kind of get the obsession men have with this now.”

Gemma pulls off with a small but dignified slurp. “The power of it?” she asks, although she’s already sure of that.

Eve nods. Gemma reaches for her hands, softly guiding them up to her hair.

“Oh,” says Eve—

—as Gemma rests her tongue underneath the shaft of the toy and then glides forward, opening wide and breathing evenly through her nose as she goes.

“Jesus Christ. How do you even—”

When she meets resistance in her throat she backs off, moving up and down the more comfortable section of the length. Even so, it’s a lot. Her eyes water just from how wide they are open, with her mouth agape and her stare fixed on Eve’s face.

The hands in her hair tighten, building up the confident grip Gemma’s been waiting for.

“How much more can you take?” Eve marvels.

For that praise, Gemma moans and presses forward another centimetre, then another, managing the gag reflex like a pro (if she does say so herself).

Eve’s hands pull at her, tugging her forward a little and then back, back, until the whole of it is out of her mouth. There’s a bit of spit down her chin, a few tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. She feels messy and hot and the way Eve looks at her confirms it.

“You should take another picture,” she suggests, voice a bit croaky. “It’ll last longer.”

Eve gets the camera, and this time when Gemma guides Eve’s dick into her mouth she listens eagerly for the click. She’s not quite reached her limit when Eve’s hand cups the back of her head, a subtle thrust of her hips pushing the toy deeper. Gemma’s throat flutters in involuntary protest. Her eyes blur with saltwater. She persists. This is something she’s good at, and she can’t resist showing off.

“Look up,” Eve reminds her, so she does, through wet lashes.

_Click_.

Eve releases her, and Gemma pulls off to catch her breath.

“God, your face is a mess,” Eve marvels, just a little meanly. “How many people do you have to suck off to deepthroat like that?”

“I don’t know,” she answers, honest. She isn’t sixteen and tallying up what boys she’s gone to what bases with; she’s a grown woman who’s been sexually active for some years. It is, however, still titillating to say: “Guess I’ve been a bit of a slag, hm?”

Eve pauses, calculating. “Do you want me to agree with that?” she asks, sceptical.

“Yes,” Gemma replies—quick and confident. She’s enjoying the dominance Eve’s been building up over her, but it’s clear they won’t be getting any further without some explicit assurance on Gemma’s part. And so she takes charge: “I like it when you insult me, actually,” she admits. “I want you to remind me how dirty I am—how desperate, and needy and jealous I can get. Just never say you don’t _want_ me.”

“Okay. Okay,” Eve repeats, absorbing this information. “I should have known you’d be like this; only a real slut would have a strap-on this big.”

Gemma nods encouragingly. “I can’t help it. I just… _want_.”

“I understand.” Eve’s voice has hardened, chilled, and it sends a proper shiver down Gemma’s spine. Oh, yes. This is what she’s been waiting for.

“Will you give it to me, please?” she asks politely. “Tell me how I can earn it, Eve?”

“Kneel facing the back of the couch,” Eve instructs, like she has a vision for the next part of the scene. _Yes._ “I want you to spread your knees apart and show me how that girly little flogger has decorated your arse.”

Gemma shifts. The sofa’s back is relatively low, but when Eve’s hands drag her thighs roughly apart from behind, she still finds her face pressed into the fabric. She scrambles to recover, bracing herself with her arms, as those same hands scratch across the tender skin of her bottom. Thumbs dig into the flesh on either side of her crack and part the cheeks, opening her right up. Eve blows a stream of air into the divide, which hits her with a chill where she’s wet and slippery.

“Do you even need me to touch you?” Eve scoffs. “Or are you so easy I could get you off without even laying a hand on you?”

“Please touch me,” Gemma whines. “I do, I need it. Touch me however you want, just—please.”

Eve’s fingers dig in harder, enough to inflict a lovely ache in every spot they press. Gemma feels them lifting, opening her more, and then she feels another, hotter breath—one that wafts instead of blowing. Eve’s face burrows in between her legs from behind, tongue lapping at her. Gemma angles her hips in an effort to ease her access.

Eve’s right hand drops Gemma’s right cheek and snakes around to press against her clit instead. She squeals at the firm, immediate pressure. Eve’s tongue licks and then burrows mercilessly. Flyaway curls tickle Gemma’s reddened skin, and although she wishes she could see Eve at work, she appreciates how the darkness behind her eyelids leaves her to focus on the sensations and the filthy smacking sounds. Each new touch comes as a surprise. She cedes the last of her control as Eve moves her mouth away and pushes her thumb inside Gemma, while her index and middle fingers rub circles over her clit. Eve’s other hand smooths up Gemma’s lower back before returning to her arse with a glancing spank.

The spring in her pelvis winds tight, ready for release—

“I’m going to come soon,” Gemma gasps, unsure of whether she’s allowed.

Sure enough, Eve stops. “Coming on one finger? Really? You think that’s what I want from you tonight?”

Blindly, Gemma shakes her head. Her body is still mourning the loss of friction, the orgasm foiled, but logically she feels relieved. She wants more from this too. More build-up, more suspense, more of a challenge before the payoff.

Eve provides that challenge: “You’re not going to come until you’re fucking yourself on my cock.”

Slowly, inexorably, Eve fingers the lube into her. It’s sloppy, and she delights in telling Gemma just how obscene it looks dripping down the insides of her legs. Two fingers dive in and then are gone again almost before Gemma can feel them. Three take their place, twisting and stretching and making squelching sounds that shouldn’t be as erotic as they are.

“Off the couch,” Eve orders suddenly.

Gemma turns to look over her shoulder and sees Eve rubbing her well-lubed hand over the dildo. “Are we moving?” she asks.

“Staying here,” Eve explains. “But it’s your turn to do the work, princess.”

Gemma’s legs tremble, but she stands, watching on as Eve picks Gemma’s own clothes up off the rug and piles them onto the seat like a makeshift cushion.

“Can’t have you ruining my furniture with your messy little cunt.” Eve sits, leaning back and spreading her arms out leisurely. “Now,” she says, gesturing towards the strap, “sit on it.”

Gemma sets her left knee alongside Eve’s right thigh, mirroring the movement on the other side. Eve’s thighs are muscular, and Gemma twitches at the memory of the morning recently when she came just from riding them. She reaches for Eve’s shoulders to steady herself, and Eve’s hands come up to grab her arse.

“Scared?” Eve taunts.

“Of course not,” says Gemma, and takes one hand off Eve’s shoulder to hold the strap in place.

Raising herself up and over it, she hovers before slowly, slowly dropping her weight. It takes a minute of mounting blunt pressure before the head makes it through. The feeling is explosive—relief and torture all in the same sensation.

A cry falls out of her mouth as she stills, adjusting to the burn. She’s so full it prickles hotly behind her eyes.

“That’s a good start,” Eve soothes.

Gemma looks at her face—that beautiful oval face—and focuses on relaxing her body. The muscles in her legs are beginning to feel the strain of suspending her at this strange angle. She can’t help the strangled sound she makes as she slides down another inch.

Eve’s breathing is almost as quick as hers; Gemma watches her chest rise and fall shallowly under her singlet. This is what the sight and sound of _Gemma_ does to this woman. It spurs her on. Down, down the strap she goes, until she can lean forward and comfortably rest her head on Eve’s shoulder.

Eve strokes her hair as she gasps through the little fluttering shocks of her walls contracting around the toy, almost coming from the fullness alone.

“Can you move?” Eve asks.

“In a second.” Gemma’s voice wobbles just like her legs do. Eve’s arms wrap around her. It’s overwhelming. Eve waits patiently as she gathers herself.

She’s made it. She’s doing it, and the painful edge is fading, satisfaction taking over. She shifts back, rocks forward, does it again. Groans at how the movement presses against her g-spot. Faster, she rolls her hips and watches the way Eve’s eyes stick on the curling tension of her abdomen, the subtle bouncing of her breasts.

Eve’s arms lift her from underneath, pulling her upwards until only the head of the strap is left inside her. Gemma swirls her hips, leaning down to lick a kiss over Eve’s lips before she drops down hard.

“Oh fuck,” she whines. “Fuck, Eve.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually taking this thing,” Eve replies, hands pinching and grabbing and then leaving Gemma’s arse to grope at her tits. She twists Gemma’s nipple _almost_ roughly, then does it again for a replay of the moan it elicits.

“I’m not going to last long like this.”

Gemma doesn’t slow herself. She’s not even sure she’d be able to if Eve ordered it; up and down, back and forth she goes, rhythmic and inevitable like choppy waves building just off the shore, hurtling towards breaking point—

“Let it happen,” says Eve—and so Gemma does.

She only realises she’s fallen asleep when she wakes, discombobulated. Eve’s hair is in her eyes, Eve’s body half-underneath hers as they tangle on the narrow sofa. The strap and much of the stickiness is gone, Gemma registers with relief, although she still feels the kind of post-ravish soreness that begs a hot shower.

She tries to extract herself without rousing Eve but fails.

“What time is it?” Eve mumbles sleepily.

“No idea, I just woke up.”

Gemma trips over her half-emptied bag of toys and only just stops herself from falling as she reaches for her phone.

“Half-nine,” she says, squinting against the blue light of the screen.

“Shit. Dinner,” sighs Eve. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving, actually.”

Eve lets out a long, cathartic sort of groan, but then she’s up and heading over to the kitchen. Gemma watches her take out two mugs and fill them with chilled water from the fridge. Placing these on the bench, she looks through the cupboard.

“I can make noodles or grilled cheese,” she informs Gemma. “Any preference?”

“Noodles sound good. Thanks.”

“They’re Super Noodles; there’s not much to thank me for,” Eve laughs, setting the electric jug to boil and bringing Gemma the water.

She barely realises how thirsty she is before the whole mug is gone.

Silently, Eve takes the mug back and refills it for her before attending to the noodles. Gemma clears up some of the trip hazards while she waits.

The meal’s not showy, but Gemma loves it. Eve doesn’t bake like Niko—doesn’t slave over a hot stove all afternoon preparing something from scratch—but Gemma still feels perfectly taken care of. The noodles are salty and satisfying, and Eve lets her pick a movie to watch while they eat. She passes over _Mean Girls_ in favour of _Pride and Prejudice,_ because she suspects they’ll be made to watch the former again very soon anyway.

Saturday morning disappears before Gemma’s even really conscious. The sun is bright and awake though the gaps in the bedroom blinds, catching dust motes in the air. Gemma admires the house’s surprisingly fancy windows.

From behind her comes the sound of Eve’s fingers tapping on her laptop keyboard.

“Work?” Gemma asks, rolling onto her other side so she can tilt her head up and see Eve.

“Kind of,” Eve frowns. “Just… checking.”

Checking for assassinations, Gemma supposes that means.

“She’ll be alright.”

“I know,” Eve says uncertainly. “But I just keep thinking… what the hell am I doing? I should be stopping her and instead I’m watching the show.”

“Seems she has that effect on people.”

Eve cracks a smile. Gemma congratulates herself.

“How are you feeling, by the way?” Eve asks her, shutting the laptop and dumping it on the bedside table. “Not too sore?”

Gemma gives her body a bit of a wriggle and sits up. “Not from the spanking,” she reports. “You can go harder next time. But I may need a night off from the strap.”

“I think that can be arranged.”

Gemma leans over to plant a light kiss on Eve’s shoulder.

“Know what else can be arranged?” she asks cheekily. “Pancakes. You’re not out of eggs, are you?”

“Ask the chicken.”

The chicken! “Of course!”

The chicken _does_ have an egg for her recipe. In exchange for its generosity, the bird is treated to an offensive of affection that ends in it fleeing every time she gets near.

It’s fine. Gemma’s a bit much for some people—and some chickens, apparently.

Trouble comes at half four. The doorbell rings while Eve’s taking a bath, and before Gemma can answer it there’s Niko, unlocking it and stepping inside.

“Hi!” she blurts out. Panicking. Alarmed by the high pitch of her own voice. “Niko, what a surprise! What brings you here?”

Niko stares. “Gemma?”

“Right, this is your house, sorry, of course it makes sense you’d come here, Eve’s just in the bathroom, I can go and get her—”

He holds up a hand. “Please don’t. I just thought I’d pick up some more things. Weren’t you supposed to be staying with a friend?”

Gemma frets briefly at the thought of Niko going up to the bedroom to where she slept (literally) with his wife last night, before realising it’s infinitely worse when he makes for the living room. The living room, where her duffle bag of sin remains only semi-packed in the middle of the floor.

“Eve and I are friends.” She’s speaking too fast. An awkward, dry-sounding laugh comes out of her as she watches him take in the boxed vibrators in plain view. “You should know, you introduced us!”

“Friends,” he repeats dumbly. “You, and _Eve_.”

“Yes. Why shouldn’t we be?”

“Forgive me if I don’t quite believe whatever story you’re telling me right now, Gemma.”

The way he’s talking to her is unlike the Niko she knows. He sounds cold and suspicious. He’s lashing out because he’s hurt, she realises, even though he doesn’t fully grasp what by.

She doesn’t like it. Mean doesn’t suit Niko the way it suits Eve.

“It’s not a story; it’s the truth.”

“I suppose these are all yours?” he gestures to the pornucopia around him.

She nods, refusing to be ashamed. “I was making some recommendations.”

Eyes flicking to the _Spinnator Satisfyer Lay-on Sweet Treat_ , he says: “I don’t think Eve would be terribly interested in that sort of thing.”

“Don’t pretend you _actually_ know anymore what I’m interested in when it comes to sex,” says Eve, who’s standing in the doorway wearing a bathrobe and slippers, a towel wound atop her head.

The atmosphere could be cut with a knife.

Niko grinds his jaw, but his eyes drop to the floor in front of Eve. “I know you better than you like to admit, Eve. Whatever sick game you’re playing with- with _her_ , at least have the decency to leave Gemma out of it—”

“You don’t know _shit_ , Niko.”

Nobody speaks after that.

“Who wants some tea?” Gemma asks when she can’t take the silence any longer.

Nobody wants tea.

Gemma makes some anyway. It’s a nice tea—a loose-leaf jasmine from a Chinese grocer which Gemma bought to supplement Eve’s collection of Lipton Yellow Label bags—but all three cups of it have gone lukewarm by the time Niko says:

“Whose idea was it to have me stay at your house?” he looks pointedly at Gemma.

Gemma desperately doesn’t want to shrink away from the question, but she can’t help it.

“He’s _staying with you_?” Eve asks, wide-eyed and furious.

“To be fair,” Gemma tells Niko, “you kind of invited yourself.”

Niko is shaking his head, that awful bitter look twisting his face again. “Good to know you’re more upset by the idea of your brand new girlfriend sleeping with someone else than the fact you’ve driven away your husband of eleven years.”

“No one said anything about me sleeping with you,” Gemma protests.

“You haven’t exactly been subtle about what you want from me, Gemma.”

“That was before! I haven’t even thought about it since! Why would I, when I have—”

Niko goes from bitter to struck very rapidly. It’s almost enough to make Gemma forget he deserves her anger.

“When you have Eve?” he finishes quietly. “Yes, I suppose I can see that. What I don’t understand is _you_ , Eve; did you have to have her, just because Villanelle wanted her? Is that it?”

“That first night—when she was all over you _and_ Villanelle?—of course that was what got my attention. But that’s not what it is now. We’ve had a great time together without Villanelle here—”

And then, just as Gemma begins to feel herself sinking through the floor, it gets worse.

Yes, worse than standing around awkwardly with her ex-crush and her new sort-of-girlfriend who is also the ex-crush’s ex-wife, staring into a cold mug of tea while they fight about who paid what attention to Gemma just to make the other jealous.

Worse than that.

“I’M HOOOME,” Villanelle bellows as the front door slams open, “AND I’M READY TO _PAAAAARTY!_ ”

Gemma sees her own panic reflected in Eve’s face. Villanelle’s footsteps clomp heavily down the hallway and the suspense is worse than a horror movie—worse than it’d be if she was here to murder them, Gemma thinks. And then she can’t think anything at all, because Villanelle’s there with her bomber jacket shrugged off her shoulders to reveal holes cut out of her top _à la_ Regina George, silver chain swinging decoratively between the clamps attached to her bare pink nipples.

“That was s _ooo_ awkward,” Villanelle says, again.

They’re sitting on the sofa like a line of naughty children, shoulder to shoulder but staring straight ahead.

Niko’s gone to get his things from Gemma’s place. She feels like she might throw up. Eve’s face is an unnatural green shade.

“Do you think he will do something crazy, like burn your house down?” Villanelle muses.

Eve shakes her head. Her loose hair tickles Gemma’s cheek. “He couldn’t.”

“No, of course not. What was I thinking. The moustache?! He will probably leave you leftover shepherd’s pie in the fridge when he leaves.”

It’s probably true.

“You’re not helping,” Eve informs her.

“I don’t know how to!” Villanelle complains.

“Ha. You can say that again.”

Gemma doesn’t like where this is going. She throws a hand out in either direction, and each finds a knee. Her left brushes the edge of the bath towel Eve hasn’t changed out of. Her right slides over the rich metallic fabric of Villanelle’s trousers.

“Don’t fight,” she pleads. “Not right now.”

To Gemma’s immense relief, the tension drains out of Eve. She slumps backwards, staring blankly at the juncture between wall and ceiling.

“This has really happened, hasn’t it?” she asks nobody in particular.

Gemma nods and takes Eve’s hand carefully in her own.

“I can’t believe I got home early just to end up showing the Moustache my tits,” laments Villanelle.

Eve snorts, smiling against her will at the stupidness of it all.

“Can we at least watch a movie, if nobody is in the mood for the sex I rushed back specifically to have with you?” The huge, round puppy eyes are _on_ , Villanelle’s plump lower lip rolling down as she pretends to beg.

“V, she’s dealing with something here,” Gemma points out.

“I know! That is why I am offering a distraction! I am very distracting, it will definitely work.”

Eve laughs again, a bit wetly. She squeezes Gemma’s hand before letting it go. “And if I was… open to distraction?”

Villanelle’s eyes light up. She’d seem almost innocent, if not for the lascivious way she licks her lips.

“I will make it _all,_ ” Villanelle purrs, leaving her seat to kneel in front of Eve and Gemma, “ _go away_.”

Long fingers tug at the towel, unwrapping. Eve gets the message, lifting her arms out of the way. Gemma can’t help the hand that strokes over Eve’s breast, thumb tracing its gentle curve. There are faint stretch marks—nothing like Gemma’s, but she follows the subtle shimmer of them nonetheless as they fan out around Eve’s tight brown areola, like rays from the sun. Next she counts the occasional freckles on Eve’s chest, a constellation of faint dark stars.

Meanwhile, Villanelle spreads Eve’s legs apart, quickly occupying the space she’s made. She puts her mouth against Eve’s cunt like she just can’t wait to taste her. It’s insanely sexy to watch, Gemma’s finding out; Villanelle eats pussy with an intoxicating single-mindedness, like it’s some kind of spiritual experience (Gemma can verify that receiving her attentions is also a spiritual experience). Clever hands tighten rhythmically against Eve’s strong thighs, like Villanelle has to hold onto something or she’ll lose herself in Eve’s body.

Eve’s eyes flutter shut. She tips her head back further with a groan, and Gemma takes the opportunity to kiss her neck. Enveloped by lush curls and breathing only the scent of Eve, it’s easy to understand why Villanelle is so hooked. There’s a deep, wild _everythingness_ about Eve that enthrals without her even having to try.

Gemma feels the shudders when Eve comes, hears the thready gasps she lets out as it sweeps through her.

“Fuck, I needed that,” she says, eyes still closed. She looks a lot more peaceful than before.

Gemma watches Villanelle resurface, wiping her slick mouth contentedly; mission accomplished.

“Want me to do you?” Villanelle offers.

“Thanks, but I’m still recovering from last night,” Gemma laughs.

“Last night,” Villanelle repeats, the shine of her expression dimming a bit.

“Which reminds me, we saved something for you.” Gemma leaps up, searching, searching—

Triumphant, she presents Villanelle with the polaroids and grinning at the way her eyes widen.

“I am going to masturbate to these immediately,” she announces.

“I was thinking of putting _Mean Girls_ on, actually,” Gemma shrugs, “but suit yourself, if you’d rather.”

Villanelle looks at her like she’s insane. “I am going to masturbate to these immediately while also watching _Mean Girls_ with you,” she amends.

“And they say romance is dead,” says Eve, who’s still mostly comatose.

Gemma fiddles with the TV remote while Villanelle settles back in on the other side of her, sans pants, holding the tiny photographs so close to her face she’s nearly cross-eyed.

Gemma’s always craved romance. The rom-com; the ideal of the happily-ever-after. At least that’s what she’s called it, the thing she’s been missing. Romance might not be the best way to describe what she’s fallen into here.

“You are thinking so loudly,” Villanelle complains as the film begins. She butts her shoulder up against Gemma’s.

It’s domestic and chaotic, sweet and terrifying, dreadfully confusing and shockingly simple at once. Not really romance; there’s too much more in it.

_Love_ , thinks Gemma. It’s too soon of course, but someday… love might be a concept just messy enough to capture this.


End file.
